Maybe They're Crazy, Maybe It's Maybelline
by strongwiththeforce
Summary: After the Illyria vs. Cornwall game is postponed, fortuitously coinciding with Sebastian's decision to stay in London for a couple more shows, Viola is forced to stay in her disguise for just a little while longer. It's a wonder how nobody's discovered her secret yet, but how will her luck continue to fare when hormones finally override her soccer-crazed mind? ViolaxOlivia


Disclaimer: I do not own She's the Man, so nobody sue me because I can only pay with pocket lint and used candy wrappers.

* * *

**_Viola_**

"Oh my god, _no_."

"Vi, you're supposed to be a human _boy_. Not a perpetual doll."

"Um, excuse me, but it's totally debatable that Sebastian's anything _but _human."

Trudging out of the bathroom, busy trying to wrap my damp, insufferable hair in a bun, I shot a frown at Paul. Although small, the entire apartment cleanly conveyed the personality of the man that called it his 'humble abode', a good portion of the space being dedicated as a mirror image of the salon that he ran. Instead of the usual combs, hair dryers, and things that vaguely resembled torture devices scattered around the vanity, however, an assortment of fake facial hair was displayed instead. I wasn't going to lie, I always did kind of wonder why on earth someone would want to buy an artificial handlebar mustache, but I also knew asking would only get 'don't ask questions whose answers you don't want to know' as a quip back.

"Okay, that's true..." Kia chimed, the only visible sight of her being long, ivory-skinned legs hanging from the leather couch. Quick as a flash, Paul was on her and slapping those said legs off their perch, snapping a chaste reprimand about her ruining the cushions.

"Yeah, but Sebastian doesn't look all clean-cut and proper 24/7," he insisted, "I mean, hello. We were all there when he decided to not get a haircut for two weeks. _Two weeks_. And you've been at Illyria for how long, Vi?"

"... Three, three and a half, give and take..." I grumbled begrudgingly, habitually picking at my split ends who've been out of my sight for far too long.

"Three weeks," he echoed in a sickeningly triumphant tone, "And how nobody's ever noticed that you're so neat all the time is beyond me. Not to mention-"

"Not to mention that you should be, like, totally buff from the soccer now!" another voice interrupted, followed by a rush of warm-scented perfume and Yvonne's devilish grin, "Come on, if you're really set on playing a boy for this much longer, you might as well _play a boy_." At that, two other voices sounded their agreement. And I couldn't do but stare- gawk, really- at all three of them, thoroughly bewildered and just a little bit disturbed. Before I could even react further though, Kia was moving from the corner of my eye, and she was suddenly on me with a roll of bandage wrap in her grasp.

"We should make your biceps bigger!" she laughed, winding the material around my arm. I tried to slap her off, but even I couldn't help but grin as well. "Also the clothes... Paul, you've got to have something that will better show off her frame, right? Something that doesn't make her look like a five-year old in daddy's suit?"

"Wh- I thought you guys said that I looked fine!"

Paul, Kia, and Yvonne paused in their dash for more accessories, glancing over at me before exchanging a look amongst themselves. It was Kia that cracked first, a cross between a snort and a giggle ripping out of her, quickly followed by Paul's pleas for 'oh god, what is air?!'. Yvonne was grabbing another wig, trying her hardest to contain herself as well, but it all broke when her eyes met my glare. "I- Oh, come _on_, Vi. Don't look at me like that! I thought you looked like a boy... ish..."

"I tried!" Paul was screaming in between laughs, "I tried to make you manly, but- Oh my god... Oh my god, my spleen..."

I couldn't believe them. I literally actually could not believe them. "I could have gotten caught!" I hissed through my teeth, throwing my towel down because it was the maximum amount of anger I could show without capitulating to laughter as well. Damn them. Damn their faces, and contagious grins, and giddy giggles. Jerks.

"Please, that headmaster's a loon," one of the girls scoffed- I wasn't sure which, I was too busy enacting phase one of the silent treatment: glaring at the wall, "And all the guys in that school worship you. You've got them eating out of the palm of their hands."

"I don't care," I lied, crossing my arms over my chest. And, let me tell you, that statement alone holds _so much more comfort_ when your breasts aren't being confined in a wrap.

"Well... they do," Paul said after a moment, the smirk on his face carrying cleanly in his tone, "You're their man. And now you're going to look like it."

**_Olivia_**

"Is it me, or has Sebastian somehow gotten hotter...?"

At the statement, exactly twelve perfectly pony-tailed heads turned to take a look. The remaining backslappers had already had their eyes on him, their naturally pursed lips barely hiding the fact that they were drooling. I'm not going to say in which group I was a part of, but... let's just say that if I wasn't drooling before, then I was most certainly drooling now.

He was standing just a few feet off the sidelines, going through a couple stretches with Toby. Just as soon as I noticed, a couple of the girls began to whisper about the subtle haircut he was now sporting. His hair remained the same, more or less, but now the bangs swept and stuck up in a way that made it look like he had just gotten done with a run. Gone was his baggy, oversized sweatshirt as well, replaced with one that was fit slimmer and flashing the word 'Billabong' on its front. If the thought of goofy, down-to-earth Sebastian Hastings being anywhere close to conceited wasn't so ridiculous, I could have sworn that he had just waltzed out of some fashion magazine.

Even as the other girls ogled though, and even though he did look hot, I could tell that he wasn't feeling his most comfortable. He kept picking at the hem of the sweatshirt, constantly pulling it down, smoothing it out, and couldn't seem to decide if he wanted to keep the sleeves rolled or not. Even from here, I saw that he kept blowing at his hair as well, reaching up to push the bangs away and then seeming a little confused when his fingers barely grazed the shorter locks. It made him look older somehow, but with the way he was acting it was like he had just experienced puberty for the first time or something. God, how adorable was he?

Despite this change though, he was still set far apart from his other teammates. And, yeah, teammates as in those hulking masses of pure jock that were now jumping on his back like a gang of apes. "Let's go, Seb!" a squeal rang out a couple steps away from me, causing an automatic cringe to take over. It was kind of instinctual for me to just tune out the high-pitched voice after such a warning, but that kind of luxury just never seemed to be offered whilst on the pitch. Partly because backslappers were not only individual cheerers, but a squad as well. Mostly because Charlotte Reynolds just annoyed the absolute _crap _out of me.

"Wooooohoooooo, Seb!" she screamed again, flashing a snide glance at the rest of us. On the field, Sebastian blinked in confusion at the nickname, eventually raising his hand in a good-natured wave. God, that nickname. Why would anyone mar such a beautiful name? I couldn't understand.

I've never really had anything against the peppy brunette before, but, ever since we were each assigned to our respective players, she's been insufferable. She cheered- cheered like it was nobody else's business- and it was _loud_. The worst part? It wasn't even _game time. _Charlotte beamed as the jerseys finally began their scrimmage out on the pitch, waving her hands and screaming his name. It wasn't a lie that, after the first week and those thereafter, everybody on the squad wanted to be Sebastian's backslapper. It wasn't a lie that I kind of wanted to be his, too. It also wasn't a lie that the jealousy was on the border of ridiculous, but did she _really _have to rub it in?

"God, who put a literal rainbow in her Lucky Charms?" my friend, Maria, muttered, suddenly appearing beside me. Looking over, I saw her usual maroon hoodie and laptop- which had an assortment of random stickers slapped onto it- as well as a sarcastic smirk that has been said to balance out my usually placating expression. She wasn't on the squad with me, but always attended the practices nonetheless- either to make sure that I didn't get into any trouble (without her instigating it) or to check out Duke's butt. "Guessing somebody didn't share their little secret about a certain hunk?" she continued to tease, mischievous hazel eyes shifting from Charlotte to my nervous ones. I tried to hide my blush, really I did, but the sight of her expression widening was proof enough that the effort was futile.

"It's _just _a study date," I insisted, rolling my eyes as if it hadn't been on the forefront of my mind all day. Because it so hadn't. Psh.

"That he asked for in a very formal way," she added in casually. I would hardly call suggesting that they 'meet up to finish that one Biology thingy' formal, but I still rolled my eyes again and nodded my head. "And it's at night. You know, _night _night. As in... past curfew."

""_Barely_ past curfew," I corrected, furtively glancing around for any eavesdroppers, "He said that we should be done no later than 11:30."

Maria only smiled a knowing smile. God, I hated it when she smiled that knowing smile. It made me feel like _I_ didn't know anything. "Yeah, well, anything past 11:30 kind of makes most think less about biology and more about... anatomy... anyways."

Out in the pitch, Coach Dinklage blew his whistle, and all the guys slowed their sprinting into a jog. And by the questioning, somewhat reassuring smile that Sebastian gave me when he just happened to look my way, I could tell that even he could see my blush from over there as well.


End file.
